by Meg Cabot
He looked dismayed. “More? There can’t possibly be more.”
I smiled at him. “Why? Are you ready to go back to restoring historic windows?”
He scowled at me, picking up the leashes of the now considerably happier dogs. “Not on your life. I love our new business . . . even if we’re not getting paid. I’d just like it better if it involved less starving animals, and more time with you, preferably in my bed.”
I smiled. “I think that could be arranged—after we’ve finished checking the rest of these houses.”
The rest of the pets on our list were fine, only in need of a little TLC—like one tuxedo cat who wanted only to sit on our laps and be petted (it turned out a neighbor had been looking in on her, but had been unable to communicate with the owner to tell her so). In the next house, a poodle was similarly being cared for by neighbors, and wanted only to play fetch with us, because she was so bored. Each had been left with enough food to get them by for at least another day . . . but beyond that, we were in trouble.
“I really think,” I was saying to Drew as we climbed the steps to the last house on our list, his friend’s pitties in tow—he’d insisted on taking them with us—“that we should break into Frank’s and take what we need. I know he wouldn’t mind. He’s a pet lover himself. I’ve heard he has a boxer.”
I’d had to raise my voice, because as I was speaking, another plane flew overhead. There’d been a steady stream of cargo jets, floatplanes, and helicopters flying by, so many that it was nearly impossible to hear oneself think. It felt like Casablanca, as portrayed in the classic old movie of the same title, only with all the flights arriving, not departing, and all the palm trees missing their fronds.
The home we were visiting was a stately older Victorian house much like Drew’s aunt and uncle’s. Painted a lovely shade of blue with cream trim, it didn’t appear to have suffered much hurricane damage at all. Its storm shutters were already thrown back, which was odd for a home whose owners had apparently evacuated, and there was a newish set of white wicker chairs sitting on the porch.
“We’re not breaking into Frank’s,” Drew said, as the dogs scrambled eagerly up the porch steps ahead of him. “CVS will probably reopen soon. Even though the last thing I want to do is give my hard-earned money to a corporate conglomerate, we can buy food—”
It was as he was saying this that a figure I hadn’t noticed before rose from one of the porch chairs and stepped in front of me.
“Hello, Sabrina,” Caleb said.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Due to flooding and damage caused by Hurricane Marilyn, the Florida Department of Health (DOH) is advising residents to take precautions against unclean water. Your tap water may contain disease-causing organisms and may not be safe to drink. BE SAFE NOT SORRY!
I was so startled, I nearly fell back off the porch.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
My mind was whirling. This didn’t make any sense. What was Caleb doing in Little Bridge? How had he known I’d be at this house? And why was he wearing white jeans and a pink Lacoste shirt in a hurricane-recovery zone?
“You know why I’m here, Sabrina,” Caleb said. His handsome, expressive face was filled with angst. “How else was I supposed to see you? You won’t take my calls. You won’t answer my texts. You—”
“There’s no cell service.”
“I meant before.”
Before he could take another step toward me, Drew came striding up, seized Caleb by the collar of his shirt, and pushed him back against the home’s decoratively painted front door.
“Hello, there,” Drew said, with deceptive cheerfulness, as both the pitties immediately thrust their noses into Caleb’s crotch and began to paw at him, barking excitedly. “Have you met my new dogs?”
Caleb was wincing and trying to break free, but there was nowhere he could go with Drew pressing him so firmly against the door, and the pitties’ hot breath on his middle section. “I-I don’t know you. You got the wrong guy, man.”
“I don’t think I do,” Drew said, his face just inches from Cal’s. “Your name is Caleb, isn’t it?”
Caleb, still trying to squirm away since Drew was in his face and the dogs were in his private parts, threw a glance of appeal at me. “Sabrina, who is this guy?”
“This is my new friend Drew.” My heart was still hammering from the surprise encounter, but it was slowing down a little, and I felt able to make introductions, the tall, dark, handsome man to the tall, blond, handsome man. “Drew, this is Caleb. Caleb, Drew.”
“Hey, man,” Drew said, relaxing his hold on Cal’s collar slightly, though the dogs continued to bark and paw at him. “Maybe you can explain something to me. See, we’re supposed to be feeding a cat at this house. Or maybe it’s a dog. What is it, Bree, a cat or a dog?”
I checked the list. “It’s a cat.”
“Yeah,” Drew said, relaxing his hold completely on Caleb, since the dogs were managing to keep him cornered. “But then we get here, and we find you instead. Where’s the cat, Cal?”
Caleb looked terrified. “There’s no cat, okay? I saw the judge’s post last night online and seized an opportunity. This is my second cousin’s house. He said I could borrow it anytime I wanted—”
I shook my head, amazed. “How did you even get here?”
“Flew into Miami this morning, then took a floatplane. They’re letting anyone land as long as they bring food or medical supplies. We brought a bunch of antibiotics. I know a doctor. Look, Bree, can you get this guy to call off his dogs? I really need to—”
“We?” Something cold had clutched at my heart. “Who is we?”
Caleb sighed. “Fine, okay. Kyle is here, too.”
The cold thing turned to icy panic. “What? I thought he was in rehab!”
“He was. He got out.”
“Got out? Or signed himself out?”
“He signed himself out. Look, I really don’t like dogs, could you just—”
“Hold these.” Drew handed me the dogs’ leashes, then confronted Caleb. “Where is that douchebag?”
“Look, it’s not what you think. Kyle’s changed. He admits what he did to you, and that he made a mistake. That’s the whole reason he’s here. He wants to make amends.”
“He can make them to me,” Drew said, shoving his chin in Caleb’s face.
“Jesus, Sabrina, who is this guy?” Caleb demanded. “Call him off, will you?”
I’d successfully dragged the dogs away—though it hadn’t been easy, since they were so strong—and was busy tying their leashes to the porch railing. “No. He’s my friend. And he’s a lot better friend to me than you ever were. He knows all about what happened, and he doesn’t think I overreacted.”
Cal, seeming to feel that he was out of at least 50 percent of the danger he’d been in now that the dogs were tied up, sagged against the door, though he still managed to look sheepish. “Look, it wasn’t that I thought you overreacted. I just thought you could be a little more compassionate. You know Kyle’s always had a substance abuse problem—”
“So that means he should be allowed to go around assaulting women in their sleep?” Drew demanded.
“N-no. Not at all.” Cal’s eyes were as wide as nickels. “You’re right. That shouldn’t be an excuse. It’s just that occasionally he acts a little—”
I couldn’t stand to hear any more. “Where is he?”
Drew looked at me like I was crazy. “You’re not actually going to talk to him, are you?”
“Yes,” I said. “I am.” To Caleb, I asked again, “Where is he?”
Caleb looked nervous. “He’s inside. In the kitchen. But, Bree, I think I should come with—”
“Stay here and keep an eye on him,” I said to Drew. “I’ll be right back.”
Drew shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
I shouldered my backpack. “I’ll be fine. Trust me. I need to do this.”
Drew’s look o
f alarm didn’t decrease much, but something in my face must have told him how serious I was, since he stopped arguing. “Okay. But at least take the dogs.”
“No.” I shook my head and patted the backpack. “This will be enough. Whatever you hear, do not come inside.”
Caleb glanced worriedly from me to Drew. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Drew shrugged. “It means she’s got some things to settle.”
I smiled at him, surprised that he remembered. “Right.”
“So whatever she says, goes. Bree”—Drew dug into one of his many pockets, then threw a small black object he’d found inside it toward me—“here.”
I caught it. It was the walkie-talkie his aunt had given us.
“Oh,” I said. “Great, thanks.” I had no intention of using it, but I put it into my backpack anyway. “If I’m not out in five minutes, you can send in the dogs.”
Drew nodded. He seemed more comforted by this than by the presence of the walkie-talkie. “Okay.”
“Wait.” Caleb did not seem comforted at all. “What? What does that mean, send in the dogs? I don’t understand. What’s going on? What’s any of that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Drew said. “Just stay out here with me if you don’t want to get hurt.”
“Hurt?” I heard Caleb bleat as I moved behind him to open the front door. “She’s going to hurt someone?”
“Maybe.” Drew sounded bored. “What are you going to do about it, call the cops? Don’t you think that might be overreacting a little? If you want to run down the middle of the street yelling for the police, please, be my guest. I won’t stop you. The dogs might, but I won’t.”
I closed the door behind me. The air inside the house was cool, and I realized the place had a working generator, but a much quieter one than the Hartwells’. The home was decorated in the same soft beach tones as the front of the house, cream and bluish gray. The décor was modern, but in the chicest of tastes, the pine walls stripped of paint and glossed to a high sheen, the way I’d always imagined the inside of an old-fashioned coffin might look. All of the electronics were high end, but discreetly hidden within alcoves and wall panels so as not to clash with the nineteenth-century architecture.
Late-afternoon sunlight was streaming into the kitchen at the back of the house from a set of glass French doors that had been thrown open to reveal a long dipping pool that hadn’t seemed to have sustained any damage from the storm—or, if it had, someone had been paid to clean it up. Along the back of the pool was a high, black-tiled wall, from which poured a waterfall that was already back in working order, consuming precious electric energy from the generator.
Kyle’s back was to me. He was mixing a pitcher of margaritas.
“So rehab worked out well for you, I see,” I said sarcastically from the doorway.
He spun around, surprised, then gave me a big smile. He, too, was dressed in the height of Hamptons elegance, tight white jeans and a beige cashmere sweater thrown casually over his shoulders, only his shirt was yellow. He was maybe even a little blonder than Cal, and definitely tanner. Rehab had suited him.
“Sabrina!” he cried. “I like what you’ve done to your hair.”
“Do you? I’m glad.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out the gun Ed had loaned me. As Kyle watched, wide-eyed, I drew back the safety and pointed it at him.
“Get on the floor,” I said.
He burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious.”
I aimed the gun at a bottle of Cuervo sitting on the counter behind him and pulled the trigger. The bottle exploded into a thousand pieces of glass, none of which likely hit him, considering the trajectory of the bullet, which went sailing through the bottle, then past the French doors and into the black-tiled wall behind the waterfall.
Kyle yelled anyway and threw his arms over his head protectively.
“Get on the floor,” I said again, when he was done yelling. I could hardly hear my own voice, thanks to the deafening sound of the shot.
“Oh my God,” Kyle cried. “You’re crazy, you stupid bitch! You could have killed me!”
“No,” I said calmly, “but I will, if you aren’t more polite to me. Now get on the ground, or next time I’ll aim for you and not the tequila.”
Reluctantly, his hands in the air, he sank to his knees. This was clearly difficult for him, because his jeans were so form-fitting.
“I’m sorry.” He seemed to be taking me more seriously now. “I didn’t mean to call you a bitch.”
“I should hope not, especially since I understand you came here to make amends.”
“Yes!” He looked like he’d only just remembered. “Step nine! I’m here to make amends to those I have harmed through my drinking.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Except that’s sort of hard to believe considering the fact that you’re drinking right now.”
“Well.” He glanced at the shards of glass covering the black tile floor behind him. “I know. This looks bad. But no one is perfect.”
“That’s true,” I said. “And who am I to judge? Except that in your particular case, I’m going to. I don’t accept your apology, Kyle.”
“Sabrina. Honestly. This is all a huge misunderstanding. Please let me explain. You see, that morning at Caleb’s, I wasn’t myself. I was drunk, or got some bad weed, or was sleepwalking, or something.”
“Really? And my telling you to get off me didn’t wake you up?”
“Well, you didn’t tell me to get off. You told me that you wanted me to take you to dinner—”
“How interesting,” I said, “that you were so drunk, and yet you remember that.”
He looked confused. “So you never wanted me to take you to dinner? Because I actually sort of thought that you and I always had a thing—”
“No, Kyle, we did not, and we do not. I only said that to get you away from me. Women will say a lot of things they don’t mean, it turns out, to get a huge slime bag like you off them. But here’s something I do mean: if I ever, ever hear about you touching any girl—or any person, of any sex—against their will, I will find you, wherever you are, and I will kill you. And I won’t get caught, because I happen to know how to dispose of bodies in places where no one will find them. And even if they did, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a jury in this country that would convict me, because you’re such a jerk, everyone would be glad that you’re dead anyway. Do you understand me, Kyle?”
He was nodding his head vigorously. “Yes. Yes, I do. But can I still just say that I’m really, really sorry? That morning, that wasn’t me . . . it was the drugs talking. And the booze. I really, really think you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Nothing actually happened—”
“Nothing?” I nearly shot him then and there. “Nothing? I think you mean to you. Nothing happened to you. I haven’t been able to sleep because of what happened that morning. I dropped out of law school because of it.” I stepped closer and closer to him, each time bringing the mouth of the pistol nearer his head. “I moved to an entirely different state because of it. I’ve fought with my mother for months because of it. You may not have hurt me physically, Kyle, but you and Cal and everybody else who kept saying nothing happened completely twisted me up inside, making me think I was the one who was wrong to be so upset over what you kept calling nothing. But you know what? I wasn’t wrong. Because it wasn’t nothing. And you know what the worst part of it all was? To get away from that nothing, I had to agree to go out with you, just so you would get your stupid, stinking, disgusting body off of me, when the truth is, you’re the last person in the world I would ever go anywhere with. And all this time, in your stupid pea brain, you actually thought I liked you? Are you insane?”
The mouth of the gun was directly parallel to his temple. Kyle knelt, frozen, too frightened to move a muscle.
“No,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I know now that you don’t like me, and that you and I are never going out. I’m sorry, Sabrina.
I really am sorry.”
Because he finally sounded sincere, I turned the safety on the gun back on, then dropped it back into my bag.
“Good,” I said. “Never come near me again. Understood?”
He swallowed. It appeared that I had really gotten through to him. “Y-yes.”
“Great. Good-bye forever.”
I turned and left the house. Outside, Drew was leaning against one of the porch rails examining his cuticles while Caleb was sitting back in the porch chair, uneasily eyeing the pitties, who were panting heavily while sitting and staring at him.
Drew looked up as I came out. “Everything go okay?” he asked brightly.
I smiled at him. “I think we came to a pretty good understanding. Thanks for asking.”
Caleb nearly exploded from his seat—but kept a safe distance away from us, due to the pit bulls.
“What was that sound?” His eyes were nearly bulging from his head, and his face was shining with nervous sweat. “Was that a gunshot? Did you shoot him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scooped some of my hair from the back of my neck. It was terribly hot outside. “He’s fine. But I did explain to him that I don’t accept his apology, and that I don’t want to be friends with him anymore, or you, either, Caleb. I don’t like either of you, and I especially don’t like this sneaking around, lying thing the two of you did to get in touch with me. It was really dishonest, and it wasted our time”—I pointed at Drew and then at myself—“while we’re trying to get some really important rescue work done. So please don’t ever contact me again.” I looked at Drew. “Are you ready to go?”
He lifted his lanky frame from the porch railing with a shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Fine,” I said, and began untying the dogs. “Good-bye, Cal.”
“Wait.” Cal looked confused. “That’s it? You’re just . . . going?”
“Yes, we’re just going.” I had to hand the leashes over to Drew, because the dogs were too strong for me. Apparently, they were familiar with the word go, and upon hearing it, were ready to take off. They’d practically yanked my arm out of its socket rocketing down the porch steps. “I’ve moved on, Cal. I suggest you do the same.”
